The Wolf and The Mage
by spockicorn
Summary: Solas is in love with Lavellan at first sight. At first he tries to ignore his developing infatuation with the young elf-especially given their age difference. However, Lavellan catches on to him and pursues him in turn. Will deviate slightly from canon. Story also happens over a number of years...rather than 80 hour play through. SPOILERS! Rated M for eventual smut.
1. Prologue

**NOTE: What if Mythal possessed Solas…not the other way around? How will Solas escape this prison?**

**PROLOGUE**

Solas was suspended in darkness, somewhere outside of time—but in time. His body was heavy yet floating, his eyes were seeing yet dreaming. He was solid, yet ethereal.

The last thing he could remember was approaching Mythal at the eluvian, she had reached for him and then like a spark he had entered this ineffable place.

What had happened to him? He still thought of himself as Fen'Harel, but he could hear other voices as old as his. Had Mythal possessed him?

_"I'm sorry old friend."_ She had said as she reached out to embrace him. And then…

He had to find a way out. A way to return to _her _and save her from what was to come.

...

He was left alone with his thoughts...

He closed his eyes. He opened them. He closed his eyes.

There in his dreams...he remembered their story


	2. First Sight

**The Mage & The Wolf: Part One**

**Note: This story takes into account the amount of time the storyline would have taken place over. 80 hour play through seems deceptive. The romance also starts strongly—a mixture of a lovelorn distant Solas and romantic minutiae.**

**PART ONE**

**WEEK ONE**

Solas looked down at the young elf laying on the cell before him. The sinewy veins of her _vallaslin_ looked freshly tattooed, her skin raw and slightly raised in the early stages of the healing process. She must have just gone through the Rite of Adulthood by her clan, she couldn't be more than 20 years old then.

He was sitting cross-legged next to her on the floor of the prison cell, holding her hand in the dark. This was the third day he had tended to the unnamed girl. tracing and retracing the trail of fade magic erupting from her palm with his mana, he had barely slept and had reached a point past exhaustion. She had just stabilized over the last few hours.

"_She is so young_," he thought sadly, reaching down he gently pushed a strand of platinum hair out of her face tucking it gently behind her pointed ear. "_Too young_."

Luck could have been the only reason that he had been with the survey group of the desolate aftermath of the Temple of Sacred ashes. They had found her in the sea of burnt corpses, curled in a ball and barely breathing in a soft green glow. They hadn't expected to find anyone living, but they had found _her. _How was beyond anyone's comprehension. Mysteriously, she had physically survived the Fade...and come back.

Frantically, Solas had raced to her side, dropping to his knees. He felt a familiar pull. _Was it? _He could sense the lost elven magic-to put it more correctly his magic-pulling him in. The orb? _No, it wasn't supposed to happen this way._

"Quickly," he had shouted desperately at the frightened guards, "We must get her to safety."

They had carried her slowly over the rough terrain back to gates of Haven to the Chantry. Solas had held onto her hand the entire way, concentrating on stabilizing the bursts of energy erupting from her palm. "_She might know something of the orb, where it went," _ he had selfishly hoped.

Hours after they returned the Seeker Cassandra started her bellowing. She had watched him skeptically ever since he had approached the surviving Conclave members. Pacing the cell they she espoused that this Dalish girl before her must somehow be responsible for the Breach that now appeared in the distant Horizon in a gyrating green. Nothing he said could change that. He couldn't reason with her—especially since he knew the constant green glow from the palm of her hand lit up the stone walls of the dungeon matched the light in the distance.

"You must make her wake up!" Cassandra shouted in her heavy accent as she stomped out of the room knocking over a table on her way out. "That or I_ will_ kill you." That was two days ago.

He looked down at his charge. For the first time, there was peace in this cell. Studying her face, he had to admit before censoring himself, she was a rare sort of beauty. Her delicate features were reminiscent of the ancient elves. She had what would have been a favored high-bridged nose, set in a thin, regal face. Very exotic in this sea of round-faced Feraldins.

It was the first time he had been able to study her in this way. Before she had just been a blur of magic, a body that he had to make _survive. _ They had wrapped her in a cotton robe after cutting off her leather armor in pieces. The metal straps had burned into parts of her skin before he and the other healers had spent the better half of a day pumping her full of their mana. She had curled onto her left side towards him. Her breathing had grown more confident. Her pulse had returned in a strong thumping rhythm. Her color was finally returning— a light tan with pleasingly flushed cheeks framed by long blonde-white hair that fell about the small of her back like tangled threads.

A noise escaping from her lips, startling Solas from his reverie. Concerned, he scooted back on the floor, rising this knees. Light hazel eyes looked up at him through thick lashes. They were cloudy, confused.

"Where am I?" a honeyed-pitched voice asked. He froze as her eyes focused on him. Her hand reaching out to him desperately. She was trying to sit up pushing up with all her weight from the dirt floor. Her disheveled hair looked like a white light.

The white robe slipped down her shoulder, revealing her left breast with a small, pink nipple. Before he caught himself, he admired the sensual curves of her body. Solas sharply inhaled, forcing himself to avert his eyes as the girl suddenly self-conscious pulled the robe up around her.

"Here" he said to her quietly looking away, pulling off the fur wrap he had tied around his shoulders. Just as he was about to wrap it around her shivering body, she screamed. He was being pulled away, guards were dragging his body slowly away from her across the dirt floor. They overpowered him, no matter with how much force he exerted. Closing his eyes he sought to draw upon his mana, only to feel an empty pool of exhaustion. A sharp hit to his head knocked him out into darkness. He could feel himself fall to the floor in a heap, giving in to unconsciousness, he cursed his mortal form.

—

They had sealed the rift. He had been correct. The last few days he had sat in the halls of the Chantry listening to the whispers to learn more about the girl. Besides their short introduction he had not seen the young elf since. He had certainly thought about her. She was hard not to think about. Not only given their unusual meeting circumstances—but she had a strong spirit unlike anyone he had met from the Dalish. The whispers confirmed this. He could hear Josephine and Leliana talking about her instantaneous acceptance of command. Even the rough Seeker Cassandra softened as she talked about her, impressed with the little elf girl's tenacity.

He had to stop referring to her as the little elf girl. He wasn't quite sure why he did. She was certainly young, but…

His cheeks flushed thinking of the moment in the cell, the robe circling her breast.. No matter how he fought it he was infatuated, fascinated…

The war room door opened. Solas stepped back into the darkness of the corridor. While he was not a prisoner, he was certainly greeted suspiciously as an apostate "knife-ear." He knew that he was not to be there lingering in the shawdows. He watched quietly as Commander Cullen walked out in his knight regalia. Leliana right behind them. Cullen and her paused outside the door to talk closely, speaking quietly.

"She says her name is Neria," whispered Leliana. _Was that amusement Solas heard?_

"Neria," said Cullen darkly, "Just like…?"

"Yes, just like her. Just like the Warden."

"That could be auspicious." Cullen muttered. "It's funny…she does _look _her."

"They could be from the same clan…distantly related," Leliana mused.

"That's true…the Warden…she wouldn't have known where she was born, perhaps—"

"I supposed we will find out." Leliana chuckled.

"She is a mage too, perhaps they are related…if only we could ask" Cullen trailed out.

Solas saw sadness hit the two commanders quickly "_Of course," _he thought. "_They had known the Warden."_

He had heard of this Neira Surana, the former lover of King Allistair. Until the Breach, it was all one would hear about in the taverns of Thedas. She had ended the Blight, only to disappear without warning to the West. The rumors her heard in Haven were dire-it was said that the King had stopped sleeping, sending out spies to look for her. None returned. Even Leliana didn't have an answer.

"_Neria," _Solas thought to himself. "_Neria," _he said it over and over again. A small smile crept to his lips as he touched his fingers to them. He walked towards the exit quietly pushing through the dust of incense and age in his bare feet. Standing overlooking Haven, under the stars he looked towards her cabin. _I must not give in_. He crossed his arms firmly. _ It is the orb, that is what is causing this…infatuation. I will not give in. _Sighing sadly, he walks slowly back to his cottage. He would not walk the Fade that night, he was too caught up planning, convincing himself not to think of _her. _

**6 MONTHS LATER**

Neria Lavellen had quickly adjusted to Haven. She had spent the first few weeks running about the camp learning from its inhabitants. They had recruited other companions. A strange elf named Sera, a Warden named Blackwell and even a Qunari named Iron Bull. Scuttling through the Hinterlands they had worked with the Inquisition agents to close Fade rifts and strike down wolves that had terrorized the countryside. Slowly, they were building up their reserves learning more and more about the region in an effort to discover who had torn the Breach open from the sky. Besides this mystery, there remained others for Neri: Solas.

She had tried to get to know the elf from the start of her stay in Haven, but he remained distant, resistant. She was curious, his naked face marked him as a city elf—but he claimed to be from a small village far away from any place she knew of. He claimed to have taught himself how to walk the Fade. Neria had her doubts. She suspected some elaborate and romantic backstory. Perhaps he had lost his family in the Blight? Perhaps he had fled the Circle? He was older, she knew, somewhere in his early 4os. She enjoyed how stern he was. How could she not be curious?

But he would hardly talk with her. He joked with Varric, gleefully calling him "child of stone." Occasionally he would play Wicked Grace and drink distilled spirits late into the night with Blackwall and Iron Bull. However, when Neria approached him he would grow sullen. She suspected that it had to do with one of their earlier conversations where she had proudly declared her Dalish heritage. He had sneered at her, dismissing her assertions of the Dalish spirit. Something must have happened to him to cause such a visceral reaction to her presence. She couldn't help but take it personally. She was determined to win him over as she had the other companions.

That and she couldn't...deny a certain attraction. Solas was unlike any elf she had ever seen before. Tall, and while slight, his broad shoulders and muscles were built in a way that she had never seen in an elf. She assumed it must be from his years living out in the wilderness.

She looked over her shoulder at the enigmatic elf. They were scouting the Hinterland countryside at the Western edges, looking for leftover caches from the mages' rebellion to support the refugees. The region had grown more stable over the last few months as they had almost eliminated both the Templar and Mage camps, establishing several for the Inquisition. What had once been dangerous travel had turned leisurely. They were no longer greeted with suspicion by the local population and in most areas had closed the rifts. She had even met briefly with Grand Enchanter Fiona in Val Royeux a few weeks ago. There was hope.

"Solas" she spoke to him directly. "_Hahren_, where do you think we should make camp?" She had picked the title deliberately. Maybe if she demonstrated some respect he would warm to her? After all, nothing was more helpful in wining someone over than feeding into their ego.

He stopped looking at her with a raised eyebrow. There was a strange sort of tension. Blackwall and Ironbull who had been telling a vulgar story about a redhead in a bar went silent, watching the interaction in a protective stance. For a moment no one spoke. While it had surprised the group that the two elves did not bond over their shared heritage, Solas' cold attitude towards the Herald had become an accepted norm. How would the mage react?

Solas shrugged, "Perhaps just a little back by that river we passed _da'len_." He dismissively used the term for an elven student, saying it in a reluctant staccato.

Neria couldn't help smiling. The word was an opening.

—

Setting up camp they realized they had a problem. Somehow one of their supply packs had been lost. Neither Blackwall or Iron Bull had any idea where it had disappeared to. What had been three tents was now two. Looking awkwardly to one another they had spent several minutes discussing sleeping arrangements. What was worse was the sky had started to rumble: there would be rain.

Blackwall had diplomatically suggested that Neria have a tent to herself and that the men draw straws.

"This is ridiculous" she had scolded, "We can all share the tents. What do you think will happen? The Dalish never have such hesitations with their fellow clan members. Such _shem _ways." Blackwall had blushed then, a dark red coloring his face under his whiskers. What she said next had surprised everyone: "I'll share with Solas."

The men had looked back and forth to each other. It was after all her choice, but still. Solas seemed to hate Neria—if not hate, he at least displayed a constant face of annoyance. Every time she had recently initiated conversation with the older elf he had responded in a dry, condescending tone. He made it an obvious point to contradict everything the Herald said.

Still, her choice seemed to make sense, sleeping next to someone so indifferent to her would create a rather platonic situation.

Solas was not pleased. So far he had been able to avoid being alone with Neria. It had been difficult as he still thought of that moment in the prison cell late at night when he no longer had distractions to banish the image of her. He had decided long ago the easiest course of action was to feign indifference. It had been easy to throw her off with his scorn for the Dalish.

Still part of him looked forward to sharing a tent with her. There was something intimate to sharing the tent, even if they would never touch. She had gone to bed early, exhausted. He knew closing the Fade rifts wore on her more than she let on.

Truth be told, he was worried about her. She didn't eat as much as she should. Varric and Blackwall noticed this, and did their best to coax her into nibbling at the stew they had cooked over the open camp fire. He was glad the two men had taken over as her protectors—a role he would like to have had but couldn't risk with his growing infatuation. Still, even with their nurturing, she had grown too slim. Her once round face had grown thin and started to show the effects of leadership in the edges of her eyes.

_Those hazel eyes_ a voice in his head cooed. _Those beautiful hazel eyes that looked up at you in that cell. _It was a good thing she seemed to not remember that moment, having never mentioned it, he suspected she had not fully revived yet. It made his performance much easier.

Solas heard a crack in the background. The storm was coming, he had to retreat to the oiled confines of the tent. With a sigh he pulled the door open. Inside he could see Neria curled in a ball, rolled in the warm furs. The rain had started in the background, a calming rhythm of a summer storm.

Her body had tensed up when he entered. She was not sleeping.

Turning from Neria, Solas pulled off the top layer of his tunic. He sat down on the furs next to her, grabbing a worn book out of his pack in the corner. He was relieved there was a few feet between them. He would be able to get through this night without any misunderstandings.

The rain began to pelt the tent harder. It was fortunate that the tent was made of top quality materials, otherwise this would have been a dreadful evening. He turned open the first page of the book, an interesting tome on theories of what separated this world from the Fade. Perhaps he would journey tonight…

Concentrating he became lost in the first chapter until…

At first he thought the sound was he storm, until he realized what it was: Neira was crying.

What was worse was she was trying to hide it. Her head was covered by thick white lambswool. He could barely hear her, and if he had been anything other than elf, he would have missed the quiet muffled sobs.

Concerned, he gently said "_Da'len_. What is wrong?" He couldn't help using the word.

Neira stirred. She slowly pulled the cover down from her face looking up through tear stained eyes. "_Hahren_, I'm sorry. I didn't mean…" she trailed off, silently choking back her tears. These were not the tears of sadness, _"No,"_ Solas thought to himself, _"These are tears of pain." _

He crouched down next to Neira, pulling the cover carefully down from her face, before he caught himself he began to stroke her hair, making soft sounds to calm her. He was surprised to see how vulnerable she was, her normally jovial face twisted in agony.

"Solas," she cried, "The anchor, it hurts…" She pulled her hand out to show him.

He gasped, the green light pulsated on the surface of her palm. "_She can't hold it in...''_

"I don't…I don't mean to trouble you..I know you…" She paused, looking down before meeting his eyes directly. "I know you don't think fondly of me."

_If only you knew, Neria, _he thought to himself. _If only you knew. _

"How long?" he strategically asked in a hushed tone.

"It always hurts—but always more after I close a rift, but today…today we closed two." She began to sit up, the lambswool falling to her waist.

_""Thankfully she is wearing clothing this time,''_ Solas reached to take her hand into his own. Closing his eyes he began to follow the pulsing energy with his mana, it felt like he was walking calmly through water until he arrived at what felt like a blockage. _Taking in all that force, it must have caused the flow to stop. _He pushed through the line, pushing a blast of his own mana through opening her magic up to flow through her body.

Neria looked relieved, her eyes closing peacefully. "Thank you," she said softly. "That, that is the first time I haven't felt pain since this first happened."

Instantly, Solas was disappointed at himself. He hadn't expected his ruse to have allowed him to miss what she had been feeling. How could he have ignored her this much? How could he have been so irresponsible? How did he always cause others pain and suffering? He looked down at Neria tenderly.

"You should have told me _da'len,_" he chided playfully. "I…I could have stopped it much earlier…this was so unnecessary…"

She looked down shyly.

Before he could stop himself he began to put down his defenses. "Neria, I'm sorry, I've spent so long in the Fade, sometimes I forget kindness. I'm sorry if I pushed you away. Please…let me know if I can help you, please."

He could see Neria begin to relax. "Solas," she said quietly, "I'm glad…we can be friends, I thought something might have happened to you with the Dalish…can I ask, what happened to you? You always seem so sad."

"Nothing with the Dalish. I'm afraid, _da'len_. This…my shortness doesn't have to do with you," he lied, "my sadness goes much deeper than old hatreds. Maybe one day I will tell you of it."

Neria reached for him in the dark, wrapping her arms around him in a warm embrace. Solas froze in them, stiffening with shock. He knew the Dalish were an affectionate culture, but he knew that this lapse in physical intimacy would cause nothing but heartache and trouble. This was not a good formula, especially in the privacy of the tent.

"Neria, d_a'len_, it is very late…shouldn't we attempt to sleep we wouldn't want Blackwall or Iron Bull to get the wrong idea," he said jokingly with a raised eyebrow

Neria released him slowly, "I'm sorry all these _shem _customs of propriety, even sharing tents, us Dalish never think so much of sex in our clan, causes way less problems."

Solas raised his eyebrows even higher over his ice-blue eyes. "Never?"

In fact, he knew it to be the opposite. While the Dalish sense of privacy was certainly different, he knew that propriety and _sex _had a sacred quality to it. While young clan members were encourage to flirt openly, and court, physical intimacy was a serious gesture. It wasn't that it was exclusive to marriage, exactly, but bonding in that way was never a decision lightly made. _Probably given the size of those traveling clans too...don't want to be stuck with an ex-lover. _

Neria slapped his arm playfully, rolling over into her bed roll. Changing the subject she looked up at him with a lightness that resonated with a beauty of something he had lost long ago. It was a mixture of hope, a mixture of innocence reflective in believing the world would change.

"_Hahren_, tell me a story of the Fade," she eagerly asked.

"Yes, but only one _da'len_, it is late." Solas laid down in the roll next to her, turning to face her. He could play this role for her, of a_ Hahren_. She would never suspect his true feelings, he could allow this new performance to keep her just as far away as his indifference had.

"Once," he began, "I was walking along the battlements of Ostegar, looking down from a tall mountain. I saw the treachery of Loghain, and there in the distance, another elf who was also named Neria ran and cut through the Darkspawn with the future King Allistair…igniting them with the flame of her staff..."


	3. Skyhold

**6 MONTHS LATER**

Solas willed himself to be hopeful as he looked out through the dense blizzard on the edge of the haphazard camp. He could hear Cullen and Cassandra arguing in the background. They had given up Neria for dead. He knew better. The orb that the magister had wielded had been his. The anchor that had attached itself to her hand was of the same matter as his ancient reserves of power.

Surely, If Neria was dead Solas would have felt it echoed in a deep part of himself.

He had been so close to reclaiming the artifact. Even though he knew that it was an unrealistic to wish that Neria would defeat the overzealous magister, he thought there was a chance. What he hadn't expected was Neria to selflessly sacrifice herself to save the people of Haven. He was continuously impressed with her. She had a wild spirit unlike anything he had expected from a Dalish. Nor had he expected the archdemon.

Now all he could do was wait. Squinting through the swirling clouds of snow he wondered what had become of the missing elf. Was she buried somewhere, never to escape? Was she struggling to walk through the storm? How would she ever find them? Would he see her again?

…

The night wore on. Several times Solas thought he had seen the outline of Neria's familiar figure, only to have it reveal itself as a shadow. The darkness covering the camp was one of death and terror.

Was that her? Looking at the distant movement nervously, Solas gripped his staff tightly…it could be a wild beast…or perhaps even Corypheus…The figure was coming closer and closer.

It was unmistakably Neria!

"Cullen! The Inquisitor! She is Alive," He shouted behind him. Cullen quickly got to his feet, both men ran to her, their bodies struggling to part the high banks of snow.

Solas was the first to reach her, grabbing her shivering form in his arms, wrapping them both tightly in his fur lined cloak. He gasped to see Neria was wearing nothing but thin leather armor…he could sense her mana reserves had been depleted when he warmed her with small bursts of his own. She must have been keeping herself warm with it.

Neria fell into him, burying her face into his chest. "Solas," she whispered weakly before collapsing. He picked her up in his strong arms to carry her back to camp. He would never let her go again.

…

"We need to stop meeting this way _da'len._" He joked at Neria when she woke up, his eyes sparkling despite the grim circumstances.

He was glad to see a small smile appear on her face. "_Da'len _I was able to revive you, but your injuries…are serious. I need a few days to sort them out. I need you to tell me…"

She was not listening. Suddenly she remembered where she was, in a flash she was trying to sit up even though she was barely able to speak.

"Solas…Solas…_Hahren _it is _you…_Corypheus…he…he flew off with a dragon," she would not stop until Solas was able to gently pushed her down and wrap her up in a layer of lambswool.

He began to "shh" her like a hearth mother. "Neria, please, I need you to rest. We saw everything, we know, the Inquisition is already at work. You need to rest…or I'm afraid. I'm afraid you will…"

"…_die." _He thought to himself. He couldn't help but leave his statement unfinished. She needed to live…or there was no chance of any other's survival.

Neria's recovery would not be without work. He had been able to revive her from the grip of hypothermia, but he dared not do more to address her other injuries until she was able to regain some strength. Solas suspected several broken ribs, a few gashes that needed stitching, and a possible concussion.

Reaching down he began to stroke her hair. She closed her eyes.

—

**A FEW DAYS LATER**

Neria woke up. She had been feeling stronger, more like herself. She even had been able to make her way around camp earlier in the day. It had been both a blessing and a curse. Words could not express how happy she was to be reunited with her companions and friends, but there had been heavy losses. Everyone was missing a loved one.

She was glad to have recruited the mages, it had meant an ample population of healers for the many wounded. If she had chosen differently, many more would have perished.

By the lack of sound coming from the camp, Neria knew it must be the middle of the night when only the last patrols stood watch. It was a relief to have a few more hours of sleep before the difficult business of deciding what came next was upon her.

Rolling over in her tiny tent she gasped as she felt her body slam into someone else. Turning she was not surprised to face Solas, now woken up by her movements. He had been so worried about her and been checking on her in preternatural amounts. This evening alone, he had checked her vitals no less than seven times.

She had only distracted him by asking her to lull her to sleep with tales of the Fade.

Honestly, she had just listened to the sound of his voice. She had trouble following his story due to her rampant fatigue and quickly fell asleep. Apparently he had nodded off as well.

"Neria…I'm sorry…I must have fallen asleep." He whispered to her, a sheepish look spreading across his face.

"Don't worry," she reassured him.

He was starting to sit up when she tugged him back down towards the ground. "_Hahren_," she implored, "please stay, I don't like these _shem _traditions of sleeping alone….the nightmares."

She could tell he seemed uncomfortable, but she selfishly wanted him to stay. Every time she shut her eyes she could replay the townspeople of Haven burning.

"Solas," she continued, "it's cold, there are no extra tents. Don't go."

He didn't respond except to lay back down besides her. Neria could hear the steady rhythm of his breathing, smelling his distinct scent of cedar and earth. They had never been this close before, except for her one embrace in the tent when he had alleviated the pain of the anchor.

"Neria, this…" Solas whispered, "will start so many rumors."

"Is that all you're worried about."

"No," he sighed, "I'm worried about you. You almost died."

For the first time Neria saw worry cross Solas' face. She reached out to him in the dark, touching the side of his face softly. She knew this was crossing the line, but she couldn't help herself. Nor could Solas, with one swift movement he gathered her into his arms. Wrapping them again in the warmth of his sheep wool lined cloak he wore in the treacherous cold of the mountain pass. She could feel Solas' hot breath as he smelled in the perfume of her hair. His arms wrapped around her reassuringly.

…

When Neria woke, she was alone in the tent. Looking next to her she saw a scarp of paper with an outline of a mountain pass. A small drawing of a castle at the end of the meticulously drawn path was labeled in careful handwriting as "Skyhold."

She smiled to herself. Solas did care about her.


	4. Too Much Cider & A Bottle of Rum

**1 year later (2 years since the start of the Breach)**

"Maker's tit, what is wrong with that elf?" Dorian asked exasperatedly as he leaned up against the stacks of books in his favorite spot in the library.

Neria looked up at him from a velvet chair. She was curled up with her legs hanging over the arm of the chair. Dorian laughed to himself silently, if she had been anyone other than the Herald she would have been scolded.

"Solas? Or Sara? You have to be more specific my friend," she said without pausing. She was always very careful in the words she chose, speaking with thought.

It was one of the things Dorian most liked about his friend. Still, he was irritated. He had been trying to talk to her about Solas over the last month. He knew she was hiding something. She had a giddy lightness to her step whenever the older mage was around.

He had once shared his thoughts with Iron Bull over a late night drink only to have the quinari quickly dismiss them: _She just looks up to him, what does she call him? Teacher?_ Sara called out to them then from across the table, spilling her ale on the floor drunkenly, _He probably just inspires her lady Hearld to be more…elfy! Elfy Elfy Elfy!_ The conversation had ended as Sara took out a dagger and repeatedly stabled the table muttering _Elfy! Elfy! Elfy! _with each thrust of the knife until all three drunken friends had been kicked out in with an undignified push out the door.

''Oh come on Neria," Dorian scolded, "You know what I am talking about. Solas practically turns into a beet when you are around, a ghastly red."

"He does not Dorian," Neria retorted with anger-pursed lips. "Dorian, you know I look up to him, he's so knowledgeable."

"know-ledge-able…" Dorian mocked, stressing each syllable.

Neria ignored him continuing seriously, "and he cares so much about…the Inquisition…we wouldn't have survived without him, he brought us here to Skyhold. I recommend you stop making fun of his outfit."

"You're right, you're right. Oh my darling Neria, my best friend in the entire world. Let's drop this subject. How about a leisurely afternoon looking at the arriving nobles with a glass of red wine…or several…I have a few bottles!"

Neria laughed. "Fine, my friend, you've talked me into it!"

Maker knew they needed a break. They had survived the winter at their new Stronghold thanks only to Josephine's connections, and Cullen's ability to manage there small resources. Fortunately, as summer broke things had gotten better. Renovations had started on the castle, and supply shipments were regularly being delivered. With the return of each away mission, he was always surprised at how much more….organized…everything seemed. He had even helped Neria and Josephine pick out tapestries and other decorations for the castle.

Still, they were not quite safe. Rumors circled around the war table, Corypheus and the Red Templers were amassing an army. The Inquisition had plans, certainly, to defend any onslaught of force, but they still had to find more support. He knew Neria was tired most of the time, days like this were rare. She was normally travelling, negotiating, and unraveling the unknown.

Dorian felt like the one thing he could give to his friend was levity. He often joked with her, teased her, just as though she were a younger sister. He felt lucky for their bond, especially after surviving a rather scaring trip through time at Redcliff. They had spoken about this over the last year. He knew that she confided to him the most, especially her more candid thoughts.

He thought this might have to do with their closeness in age. Even though Dorian was 10 years older, that was the closest out of all the other companions. He knew that at 22 she would have been enjoying her young adulthood with her clan. She had told him about some of the suitors she left behind, how much she had missed some of the intrigue of flirting, and dreaming of her potential lovers.

Sometimes he caught her on their trips weaving flower crowns, singing to herself in romantic sounding elvish tunes.

This week in particular she had a demonstrated a nostalgia for her clan, for those lovers she had left behind. She seemed withdrawn, lingering with Cassandra to talk about a trashy romance novel, or taking extra time to gossip with Josephine about court intrigue.

He knew what would cheer her up.

"Neria, my friend, will you accompany me later this week to the Harvest Ball! I just can't imagine a better date."

Neria blushed, even though she knew Dorian had no interest in women, she still enjoyed the attention. She turned to him beaming.

Dorian couldn't resist, he got down on one knee, "Oh, famed Hearld," he continued in an exaggerated tone, ''Please, join this unworthy _vint_ to the Harvest ball. They will speak of this for ages! The scandal."

Neria covered her mouth giggling. "Dorian…I would love to…only I don't know what to wear!"

"That my dear," Dorian paused, "Is easy."

**1 Week Later**

Solas was attending the Harvest Ball grudgingly. He was also terribly late. While he was not a complete recluse, he spent most of his time at Skyhold in his study either looking over old elven manuscripts or painting elaborate frescos on the wall. Still, he knew as one of the Hearld's companions he had to make an appearance. _Besides it was a chance to see her…_

While he had continued to grow closer to Neria, he had done so under the guise of a teacher. It was appropriate considering their age difference, as well as his…well… his history. He couldn't imagine telling her who he really was…

Still, sometimes he slipped. The Tevinter mage often teased him of this when no one else was around. Besides Solas' rags, which was one of Dorian's favorite subjects, Solas' blush whenever Neria was present was a common discussion. Still, the mage knew his boundaries, it was only when the two mages were alone that it was brought up. No scowl on Solas' part could make Dorian stop.

Tonight, though, he was free to enjoy himself without his companion's judgements. The Harvest Ball was perhaps one of his favorite holidays. While it was nothing compared to ancient festivals he had experienced in the fast, he enjoyed the over-the-top pageantry. He could smell the burning of hay in the distance of Skyhold's cavernous garden, a melody of dancing, laughter and music. Casks of hard cider had been broken open and even early in the night he could tell that most of the attendees to the party were drunk. This was common. He knew that tonight was considered a release of rules, a night to be _wild._ _The best tradition_, he thought, _was the costume._

Dorian couldn't mock him tonight. He wore a velvet doublet and pantaloons, with a bronze cast wolf mask. He covered his easily identified baldness with a matching velvet scarf, something that Josie had informed him was incredibly fashionable at the capital of Val Rouyeux.

He walked towards the center of the celebration, picking up a cold tankard of cider. He sipped it slowly…until with a short audible gasp he saw her.

It had to be her.

And she was beautiful.

He couldn't stop looking.

Neria was laughing playfully in the center of several younger men. Her dress was alluring, suggestive. Made out of a sheer sort of white silk it fell in layers around her curves, clinging to them as he moved. While the skirt was full, a deep plunge revealed the outlines of her small breasts, barely covering them except for elaborately tied strands of weaved ribbon. The lines of her _vallaslin _poked out like lines of embroidery.

What made her stand out, perhaps most, was her hair. Artfully, her white blonde locks were tied around what had to be small halla antlers. Small strands fell down her back. A gold Orleasian mask covered half of her face.

Solas started walking towards her slowly. He couldn't resist, he knew he would regret this later.

"Lady Hearld," he elegantly bowed, extending his hand.

Neria looked up, a sly smile covering his face, reaching out she shyly reached for his hand.

Who had to be Dorian in a ridiculous slashed red velvet and leather outfit (with a-yes had to be-stuffed cod piece), stopped laughing. He looked over playfully. Covering his mouth as though to keep from giggling self-rightously.

"May I have this dance," Solas asked boldly.

"Of course."

He spun her into his arms, escorting her over to the dancing with a hand on her lower back. Solas felt almost indecent, even though that was the customary norm—nothing illicit about it. The music had turned to a slow real, the strings playing rather mournfully. Without delay he took Neria's marked hand in his own, turning her about gracefully in a slow waltz.

"Solas," she whispered in his ear, "I didn't know you were this _adept_…at dancing."

He was glad for the mask, for he could feel his face burning.

"I'm full of surprises. What can I say? I see so much in the Fade."

"Solas, I'm afraid I'm very…horribly…drunk." Neria confessed rather bluntly, pulling away to look up at him almost quizzically. "It was an accident."

"Ah," He raised his eyebrows over his mask. His blue eyes gleefully, "Our young friend Dorian's influence I supposed."

"Yes, well…she stammered…I didn't know how…much…" she began to hiccup. "I've never had so much to drink...before."

He knew this had to be true. The Dalish were supportive of freedom, allowing their young clans people to experiment, but drunk behavior while not forbidden was not encouraged.

Solas drew her back into his chest. He knew this was too far, but with her admission, he could feel her unable to hold herself up straight. Looking back he had been too excited to notice how she swayed as they walked rather unsurely. She fell into his embrace resting her head on his chest.

"It's not Dorian's fault…he's just too drunk….to…be helpful." Neria continued.

"Oh_ da'len" _he whispered, stroking her hair. "Whatever will we do with you?"

"Solas, I think I need to go to bed, but I can't get there myself. Can you help I think I'm going to be sick."

_Oh yes…he would regret this._

Twenty minutes later he had carried Neria to her room. All the other companions, including Cassandra, were too drunk to stop him. He certainly wasn't planning anything untoward, but on any other night an apostate mage carrying a young Dalish girl in his arms up to her private quarters would be met with rumors. He had to be careful.

Neria wasn't doing so well physically, but she seemed to be rather optimistic over her complaints of nausea trying to teach him lyrics of some song with the line "Sara was never..."

"Just a little bit longer, we are almost to your room." He had told her quietly.

Upon arrival he had set her down and she flung herself onto the bed like a pile of rags. He proactively grabbed a bucket. Without delay he helped her aim away from her dress as she retched into the bucket.

"This is so embarrassing." She muttered.

"No worries, young one, we don't have to tell anyone."

"Solas, I need to get these antlers out of my hair they are so heavy...I am not a deeeeer." She began to pull at the pins in exaggerated motions, her hair was falling down and both antlers fell to the floor with a resounding thud. He didn't intervene, except to pull back her hair as she threw up in the bucket again.

"I'm going to ruin my dress…"

Solas stopped. He certainly didn't want to put her into an uncomfortable position.

"Neria," he stopped, "You must do that yourself."

She looked up as though struggling to remember what was going on.

He groaned, she had obviously blacked out.

"Solas…I don't know how to untie it" she began to demand.

"Even so…shall I get a maid?"

''No, just, grab my robe from the chair."

He did promptly returning it to her. She wrapped it around her body, squirming underneath, the silken folds of the dress pushed to the floor. She sighed in relief as everything was undone and her dress laid on the floor.

...Solas sighed in relief that she hadn't stripped in front of him.

"Are you going to be sick again?" He asked.

"No, no. I think…I'll be fine…I just need sleep."

He knew she was too sick to leave alone unattended. He thought briefly of seeing if there was anyone else that could sit with her, but he didn't want to take the risk of leaving her for even an hour. He had certainly remembered partners in his youth just as drunk, who had not faired so well after a nightlong party. He knew that she drank rarely, and this certainly had to have hit her system hard. Still, he did not blame her, such a mistake only needed to be made once.

Solas gently pushed Neria's body over in the bed, pulling down the stuffed coverlet of the bed, picking her up again, he placed in the folds, sweetly wrapping her body in the brocade cover.

"Solas…" Neria began trailing off…

"Yes?" he asked curiously.

"Dorian thinks…Dorian thinks you have…_feelings_."

_That blasted mage! _He thought to himself.

"Solas," she continued, "We've never talked about that time….that time in the Fade."

He had known this conversation was coming for a while...


	5. Shut Up Solas

**Note: I have gone back and considerably revised the first two chapters for typos, etc. **

**THE SAME NIGHT**

Solas blushed despite the cold air: "I suggest you sleep, _da'len_."

Neria turned over away from him, a disgruntled groan escaping her pursed lips.

"I knew...I knew you would dance...with me t-tonight" she slurred at him.

"Is that so young one?" he asked shortly.

"Dorian said, you wouldn't be able to resist..." she broke off passing out suddenly in sleep.

He rose slowly, walking away from the bed to the brocade lounge chair. Picking up a book that Neria had left flung open on the floor he started to page through the musty tomb. He was unpleased to see it was the book he had leant her last week, a tomb on Fade magic, now damaged from her wayward tossing…and with a wine stain on several of the pages he flipped through.

He sighed. Looking around the room he could see the earlier preparations of the Inquisitor—and who he assumed must be Dorian—empty wine glasses were left about carelessly like knick knacks amongst exotic fabrics strewn across the floor like tropical foliage. _Was her entire aim to seduce me?_

Neria's undignified snores rose in the air, Solas could relax. He would stay up with her a bit longer.

She must be intoxicated. She never snored.

He was amused at how much time he seemed to spend with her while she was sleeping. To be more specific, he was amused at how much time he spent with her while she was sleeping _while they were not _in the Fade. In fact, when at Skyhold she seemed to fall asleep on a chair in his study two or three nights a week after joining him after all of the castle's business had been settled. Sometimes she would read quietly, other times she would watch him paint as though in a trance. The two never talked about it with each other, as though it would call attention to how inappropriate the intimacy of their shared silence was.

That and the kiss._ She was trying to seduce him. _

_The Kiss. _ How could he forget the kiss. It had been impulsive, a mistake. It was not that he regretted the act, no—he was frightened. It had unlocked too many emotions in him. He could no longer keep his infatuation under the surface.

It had only been a week. The first two or three days after even he, uncharacteristically, light-footed and happy. He had even caught himself humming in the Chantry garden. It was as though he was young again. Blackwall had even commented on it when Solas was too distracted to best him at cards. Now, however, enough time had past for Solas to understand the gravity of what had happened.

Neria had asked him to show her what the Face was like. He wasn't quite sure how she had convinced him. Purely, academic, she had claimed.

Looking back, he couldn't be so sure. While Neria operated with mostly earnest intentions, she had these moments of slyness. He had first attributed these to Dorian's rambunctious influence—but one could only blame the Tevinter for so much.

There they were then, walking through Haven. He had recalled to her for the first time the details of her arrival in the prison, the closing of the Breach when…

…when he stumbled and finally confessed that at her arrival "he felt the whole world change."

She had grabbed him then, leaning in before he could stop her, kissing him with such ardor, such passion. He pulled away, only to reach out for her, pulling her in for kiss after deep kiss. He closed his eyes to picture the moment again, as though he could taste her mouth.

He had to be more careful now. He had to figure a way to end this without no hurt feelings. Before the kiss he was sure the feelings were just one sided. Neria, was young, perhaps this was just a passing dalliance...he had been hopeful that the dashing Dorian, or the stead-fast Cullen, would capture her attention. While it would have been a kind of torture to watch the romance unfold, it would be better for her in the long run. To be honest, he was beginning to see that his passion was not just...lust but something about Neria captivated him in a way he had not felt...well he had not felt since his very ancient youth. He loved her. No, he would not let himself love her. He had to end this. He had to end this quickly.

—

**A MONTH LATER**

Neria stood overlooking the river the flowed through the Exalted Plains. They were camping for the evening on the outskirts of the one of the Dalish camps after trudging most of the day through the rough terrain from the Inquisition's camp on the outskirts of the territory. She had stolen away from her Dalish brethren for a moment of peace. In the distance she could hear Iron Bull and Dorian laughing around the camp fire exchanging tales of horror and bravado with the tribe's storyteller.

She smiled to herself—in times of war, old prejudices died quickly.

While the Dalish clan had greeted them skeptically at first, they had gradually won them over through small acts of kindness, and regular deliveries of meat and metal. She could tell the two camps felt safer camping near one another with the unstable undercurrents of demon rifts in the area.

She was enjoying the quiet of the late hours on the bank of the river to think.

Neria was confused. To use the word to describe her feelings was an understatement. Since their arrival at Skyhold she had felt her relationship with Solas deepening. His coldness had given way to an affection that at first she thought of as watchful, but then she caught on that it was more. She couldn't say she wasn't she had been swept up in the turmoil of the Breach, its closing, and then the surfacing of Corypheus life had become to take on new and unexpected turns. Her attraction to Solas, at least 20 years her senior, was one of them. Neria suspected he was not what he seemed. She knew he was no demon—no maleficent spirit—but she could not determine what he was or where he had come from.

There was one thing she did know, and that was he was, to put it as Dorian and Iron Bull did: a moody elf bastard.

One minute she could feel him opening up, responding to her affections, the next, he went back to ignoring her except for business.

Her confusion with Solas was slowly giving away to annoyance. They were in the Exalted Plains because of him after all. He had asked her rather pitifully yesterday morning to travel with her and save one of his friends from the Fade. She couldn't resist…of course she wanted to help…especially if she would be rewarded with him letting down his guard again…

Ever since the Harvest Ball he had been so removed, refusing to travel with her and leave his study. At night when she went to visit his study he was nowhere to be found. She had confronted him, only to be met with scolding: "Neria, I must study," "Neria, I have work to attend to," and the one that irked her the most, "Neria, shouldn't you see if Dorian needs something?"

She his wasn't quite sure what had changed.

Sighing she resigned herself not to think of Solas. Tomorrow, they would cross the river and rescue Solas' friend. Whatever otherworldly mystery that preoccupied him would reveal itself. She couldn't control his emotional whims.

The air was heavy and thick. The smell of burning bodies from the northern areas was carried by the wind, even this far approached the flowing water and stripped out of her boots and walked to the banks of the river, playfully pushing her toes in the comforting feel of cold sand. She stood like this for some time, enjoying a space where she didn't have any demands on her attention except the chirping of crickets in the background.

Suddenly, Neria tense hearing someone approaching her. She could feel the hair rising on her neck in fear, turning she saw a figure approach her, the outline of broad shoulders and strong gait was unmistakable. It was Solas.

He raised his hand to calm her. "Neria," he said in low register, "I didn't mean to startle you, only to warn you of what we might find tomorrow."

She walked out of the water, beckoning for him to sit next to her in a patch of try grasses. She watched as he gracefully sat, even his mundane movements seemed elegant to her.

"What are you worried about Solas?" she asked, noting they had returned to first names, no endearments.

"I fear…I fear that what we will find will no longer resemble the Spirit we once knew…walking the Fade this afternoon I felt unrest, such anger. I don't know if I can return to that place tonight."

"Then…then let's wait out the night." She said suggestively raising her eyebrow. _Maybe he would respond?_

Solas crinkled his nose like he always did when he was annoyed or upset.

"Neria, this is not a game!" He growled.

"Solas, I just want to be helpful!"

"This isn't helpful, this isn't some sort of drunken romp of Dorian's."

Neria could feel the tension that had been building over the last few weeks in the undertones of Solas' rage. She began to cry silently, a few tears running down her face. She indignantly stood up facing the elf at her full—although rather short—height.

"Solas! I have had enough" she could hear herself screaming. The laughter in the distance of the camp stop, she could feel eyes on her.

He swallowed, crossing his arms impatiently. He put a hand up as though to silence her.

"NO!" she kept screaming, "First you ask me to come here, to save your friend, and then you are a miserable _asshole. _What do you want fro me? You lecture me, you tell me things I already know. I know that this is no romp. What the fuck is wrong with you?"

She paused, looking at him for an answer, continuing when he gave none but a blankly staring face, "You don't know…everything. You ignore me, you belittle me for months, and then…then you open up. What is your problem? _You kissed me and then pretended it didn't happen!"_

In the background she could hear both the catcalls of Iron Bull and the gasp of Dorian. The younger elves snickered. Solas slowly rose, backing away from her.

"I might be half your age _ha-h-ren. _But at least I know what I want!" Neria's tears continued down her face. She turned on her heel, stomping off towards the sea of aravels and gawky faces. She didn't stay to watch Solas stand speechless at the bank of the river, or gather her forgotten boots and walk off into the night…


	6. What Tavern Songs Are Made Out Of

4 MONTHS LATER

Neria sat at the desk in her room pushing through stacks of paper. It was early evening on a Spring afternoon and sunlight pleasantly spilled across the vellum pages she eagerly flipped through. Even her scholarly activities could not distract her from her uneasy feelings she had carried over the last few months since her fight with Solas in the Exalted Plains. He still had not returned even after they had successfully freed his Spirit friend from her miserable fate.

She still was embarrassed thinking about the scene she had caused, even if she intuitively knew that Solas had needed to be confronted on his uncertainty. Still, even now she could feel the heat rise to her face when she replayed the words she had hurled at him. _The way he looked at me that morning…it was almost the same way he looked at those mages that had summoned the spirit. _

While her words had been true, so had some of his. They had cut her. She had been playing with him like she had the younger men of her clan. As the Keeper's second she had a line of suitors who all were focused on winning her affections. They had called her the white wolf, her flirting daring and aggressive. She had thought the same routine would work on Solas. She had guessed wrong…very badly. She didn't know what had happened to Solas to make him so removed from this world, so focused on the past…but it had to have…been devastating.

"There is a sea of blood, her body is on the ground asking for vengeance, but even you with all your power cannot save her," Cole had darkly revealed in his unprompted ramblings, "She is dead and can no longer hear her children. Your hands are covered in dark warm liquid…everyone will blame…"

Solas had hurriedly hushed him, "Cole, please anything but that… you can't help."

Neria couldn't help wondering what Cole described…maybe a wife? He certainly was old enough to have been married. Children? Probably. Had he lost them all?

She couldn't deny it. Neria missed Solas—and as much as she hated to admit it, she needed him. She sighed as she looked at the pile of old manuscripts she had taken from his desk. She knew she needed his help to decipher the ancient glyphs. As Leliana had pointed out, besides a few former experts that had lived in the Circle (who were probably now either dead or missing) no one had such a command of ancient elven as Solas did. Skyhold had tried to help her unravel their mysteries. She was glad to have allied with the mages, she had learned so much, however, the largely human army had little time to care about the mystical rubbish of Ancient Arlathan. Still…Solas had mentioned the orb that Corypheus carried was an old relic…maybe if she could find a description in these pages she could come closer to defeating him…

It was strange for her to need someone.

Still, it was almost dinnertime. She was hungry. She was always hungry…

She got up quickly from her chair. She was excited to join the others in the main hall for dinner. After traveling almost the entire winter she would treasure the few weeks she would be able to stay at Skyhold. Over the last few months there had been victories. She, Blackwall, Vivienne and Cassandra had foiled Corphyeus' attempts at gathering an army…liberating the Gray Wardens. As much as she had hated to, she had sent them far away…she couldn't risk the magister's influence on their order.

She was still shaken from the battle, her journey through Redcliff hadn't even been this terrible…but she was grateful for more answers.

They had come to her in another trip through the Fade. There were no known individuals that had entered the Fade and returned…twice. There had been loses, yes, Stroud had died nobly….she was still shaken…

They had just returned last night. The trip back had been slow, she had been able to compartmentalize some of the damage, but she had hoped so desperately that Solas would be in his study on her return. Like every other homecoming she had tried to escape notice as she ran to his study. Would she ever see him again? Where was he? Even Leliana was worried. She wished he was here more than anything—even if it was selfish. How she would like to tell him what the Black City had looked like on the horizon…

Sighing, she began to walk through the hallways. Neria was pleased at the repairs that had been made in her absence, they were entertaining more and more nobles, gaining more and more power. Soon, they would be traveling to the court of Orlais…

Walking through the dark courtyard, she walked out onto the steps that overlooked the central entrance….was that…it was…

"Solas," she whispered out loud.

Her immediate impulse was to rush, but she stopped herself from running. She would let him approach her.

Towards the entrance she could see him standing at the gate laughing with Cole. She couldn't hear what was being said, but Cole gesticulated wildly the way he did when he said something provocative. How was it always at the worst moments? She swore he somehow did it on purpose. Solas froze, looking in her direction he confirmed that Cole must have said one of her deepest, darkest secrets.

Solas smiled, waving. She waved back. He had to have made peace with what she had said if he greeted her so warmly. Why else would he walk towards her so quickly?

"Neria…" he began almost sheepishly, looking up to her from the bottom of the stairs.

"Where were you…I…was worried" she replied as he climbed one star after another.

_Was that a limp she saw? He seemed to be leaning on his staff more than usual. Maybe he was just tired. _

"No need…to worry…" he said quietly as though reading her mind.

She cut him off, reaching out for his arm tenderly…."Solas."

She could feel his hand touching her face softly. This was the touch of a lover. She had craved this. Making eye contact for the first time in months she stared up into his blue eyes feeling nothing but vulnerability. There was some sort of new understanding between the two of them. _Was his heart fluttering the same way? _

Solas broke the silence…"We shouldn't talk here…we should go somewhere else," he gestured to the always present onlookers who couldn't help but be curious over his return.

Nodding, she agreed trailing off "Yes…" Gaining courage by the way she caught him looking at her with a bemused smile, she continued grabbing his hand before he could stop her…"My room…its…"

If nothing had started rumors before this, certainly the Hearld of Andraste leading an apostate mage boldy through the throne room, past screaming merchants, one curious Varric and half a dozen servants readying the evening meal did. Turning to one of them to say, "Send dinner up, but after that we are not to be disturbed…" inspired several tavern songs that would follow her for the rest of her life.


	7. Reunited

**A FEW MINUTES LATER**

Neria and Solas stood silently on the balcony overlooking the mountain pass.

They had been standing there for what felt like hours watching the sun set over the mountain pass in a pastiche of orange and pin. There was much to talk about, but neither wanted to start.

Neria was worried. Given their last encounter, the things that she had said…she was worried that Solas had returned to end things…Fidgeting, Nereia couldn't take it anymore. Without looking Solas' direction she hesitantly began, "I was afraid you wouldn't come back."

"I had…much to think about," replied Solas curtly.

Worry crept into Neria's heart. _He is going to end it_ She turned to him quickly to speak, but she was surprised to be interrupted by Solas' hands tightening around her slim waist. Tentatively, he leaned in for a kiss, touching his lips lightly with his own.

He pulled their bodies gently together. His kisses deepening as she responded passionately. This was not like their dreamy tingling kiss in the Fade. She was absorbed in the taste of his tongue, and the way he wound his fingers through her hair. A small moan escaped her lips, which Solas took as an invitation to trace the lines of her throat and neck with his mouth.

Their bodies moved against each other, Neria pushed up against his body and growing need, winding a leg around him. Solas began to move his hands over her waist, pulling her as close as possible. Three years of building tension was evaporating,…she couldn't wait any longer…she lightly began to pull up his tunic…nothing could…stop them….until

Until a loud bang echoed from the next room, "Inquisitor?" A curious voice asked, "Inquisitor, we brought you dinner."

Solas groaned quietly in her ear, gently untangling their bodies. "Later," he whispered in her ear. He laughed when she rolled her eyes. Life in Skyhold was amazing, but there were eyes everywhere.

"Thank you," she called walking into her airy chambers after fixing her hair. The two maids had brought up a few dishes of bread, crumbling cheese, fruit and slices of left over roast. One was preparing her table with two plates, while the other filled two goblets of wine, pausing to wipe a way an escaping drop of liquid from the pitcher

Their eyes widened as Solas walked in the room behind her. Neria knew there were rampant rumors regarding his absence. Dorian had told her that some of them were borderline lurid, ranging from pregnancy to demons. Two apostate elven mages, how could there not be great stores?

She cleared her throat, assuming an authoritative stance "Solas has just returned from a mission for Leliana. We welcome him back to Skyhold." The two maids looked up, curtseying as they exited the room. They walked quickly as though they couldn't leave fast enough.

"I see my absence has been observed, " he laughed.

"Yes…well," Neria said curtly, turning to look at him again. "I feel like I gave you a good send off….Solas, where did you go?"

He spoke quietly, "I wandered for a time, looking for my friend. Spirits don't die exactly, but she did not remember me when I found her. After that, I…thought…I thought about my life before coming here."

"You didn't need to mourn alone." She reached and took his hand in her own. "Solas, I know I'm young, and these aren't the best circumstances. I don't care what it is that holds you back…you're here now. I see the way you look at me."

She looked at him expectantly, waiting for an answer.

She was met with him looking at her curiously. She could tell he was deep in thought. He paced about slightly, which was awkward with a now more obvious limp.

Truth be told, looking at him in the flickering candlelight of her room, she was worried about him. She could tell his adventures had not been kind, he looked like someone who had—well slept outside for the last few months. His muscular frame looked smaller as though he had not eaten enough for weeks. His eyes, while warmer than usual, looked exhausted.

"Solas…you look, " she changed the subject laughing, "terrible."

She laughed harder as he turned to her grinning. "It was not a good journey."

Neria took his hand and led him to one of the chairs at her table. He sunk down with a sigh. She couldn't help generously piling his plate with food. She had expected him to ravenously but he gestured to her to sit across from him, before delicately picking up his utensils to eat delicate bite after delicate bite. Josephine was jealous of the effortless ability he had when it came to dining.

"You always are so elegant. Where did you learn such graceful table manners? Neria asked quizzically.

Solas crinkled his nose, looking up, "One never knows what one will learn in the Fade…I…this is not what I want to talk about."

"What do you want to talk about then?" Neria demanded.

"The anchor."

"The anchor?''

"Yes."

"Oh," she sighed disappointedly, "Always the anchor. It's a rather marvelous green color. Sometimes, in the words of Iron Bull, 'fry those fucking demons' with it."

Solas laughed while delicately spreading butter on a hunk of bread. He had eaten at least two platefuls of food, and was working on eating another.

"Has the anchor changed you? What were you like before?" Solas asked looking up at her, crossing his hands across his chest.

She leaned in, "I was the same in spirit if that is what you were asking."

"That is."

"Why?"

"You are not what I expected of the Dalish."

"What did you expect?"

"You show a remarkable ability to help others, a dedication to this cause, and a way of seeing that looks past preconceived notions. I never thought the Dalish would be capable of producing one such as yourself."

"You give us no credit."

"Perhaps not." He looked up at her then, his serious face melting into something much different. Something she had seen before. _He looks like he is undressing me with his eyes._

"Solas?" She asked playfully raising an eyebrow.

She was self-conscious. She had lovers before, but never one like this. All of the other men she had flirted with, or entertained a relationship seemed so unsure. Solas was disarming. She knew that his feelings ran deep, that much was certain, but she didn't quite know what to do with them. Every attempt she made at flirting was always shut down so quickly.

"You are so beautiful," Solas said interrupting her thoughts, "And I have not forgotten the kiss." He stood then. _Was he going to leave?_

__"Don't go." She said.

"Go? It would be kinder in the long run, but…I can't go. I'm sorry for before, I should…I was conflicted. You are so young. I am a fool."

"You're not a fool."

She watch Solas sigh. He looked so tired. He slumped in his chair. She could see a tear in his sleeve revealing a gash. He needed some healing salve.

"You might be a fool depending on what did that to you," she joked gesturing at the wound.

"Oh this…yes. I was rather careless and ran into a bear."

"From the looks of it, I expected at least a dragon. Here let me help you."

"Thank you," he said wearily shutting his eyes, "I am very tired."

She stood and led him over to her bed. She had recently purchased a new one in Val Royeux. It was a decadent splurge, but one she was please with. This one was of Fereldin make, with large red curtains that had kept her warm throughout the winter months. The castle was nothing but drafty.

"I see you have a new bed?" Solas flirtatiously said, bouncing on it to test the spring. "It's been so long since I've slept in a bed."

She could feel a blush spreading across her cheeks, "So you expect to be sleeping here?"

Solas grinned before pulling her close again. He was kissing her just as ardently before, his tongue separately her lips. Her body was reacting to his independently of her thoughts, she couldn't help reacting as his hands rubbed her smooth flesh gently.

She was fumbling with the ties on his tunic, straining to remove his clothes as fast as possible. "Solas," she moaned, "please… I want you."

He groaned, rolling her over to pin her with his body. Neria's hips rose to meet his. He drew back for a moment to look deeply into her eyes. Neria saw so many emotions flickering under the surface: turmoil, frustration—but mostly hunger .She pushed up hard with her hips, intertwining her legs around his.

Solas broke the kissing to pull Neria's shirt over her head exposing her two small breasts. She felt the cold air passing over her body, only to be warmed by Solas' mouth as he kissed one breast and then the other greedily. Hastily she pushed him up grabbing at his tunic again.

"So hasty," he smiled.

She ignored him pulling up his shirt over his head to be met with his well-muscled chest. In awe she delicately traced his well defined abs. _He was so handsome. _With a new burst of confidence she began to kiss his jawline and to suckle his ears.

Solas rewarded her with a groan. Throwing her playfully over the bed he stripped off her trousers, growling as he threw them on the floor. She pulled up to her, but was pushed back down on the bed again as he kissed her again with a new ferocity.

"_Ar lath ma vhenon." _He whispered in her ear adoringly.

"_Ar lath ma vehnon_' she echoed looking up into his eyes.

The two melted into a dance of passion. Neria couldn't wait any longer, she tugged at the rest of Solas clothes until they were completely naked, flesh touching flesh. She could feel Solas' need pushing against her thigh, teasingly at her slit.

He pulled back, "This is your first time." It was a question not a statement.

"Solas, Now. Please. I want you."

With no delay he thrust up into her, gently at first, a flash of pain gave way to rolls of pleasure as their bodies met. With every thrust Solas filled Neria up until she could no longer think, everything was blurred in a mixture of sweat and moans. She felt as though she was being pushed out of her body, clawing at the sheets, her body clenched around Solas tightly as she came… Solas accelerated in his pace calling out her name wildly as joined her.


End file.
